


Absolute Proof

by LokiOfSassgaard



Category: Cabin Pressure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 06:21:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6318115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokiOfSassgaard/pseuds/LokiOfSassgaard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin's day gets a whole lot worse when he has to walk home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolute Proof

It's days like this that Martin is absolutely convinced that whoever is in charge of the Universe, off in their tiny shack with their cat, or whatever it is people in charge of universes keep, hates him. He doesn't even need any reason in particular to believe this idea because as far as he's concerned, there has been no evidence strong enough to refute it. It isn't the rain, or the fact that his van refused to start, or that he doesn't have the cash to get a tow, and even if he did, the battery on his phone is dead so it doesn't make much of a difference either way.

These are all just icing on the cake of his travel bag getting stolen in Barcelona and his shoes being confiscated by the world's most useless airport security. The cake and the icing have now come together in a perfect storm of misery that has left Martin trying to hitch along the A43 in pouring rain at half ten at night, wearing only a thin t-shirt, his uniform trousers, and his one remaining pair of good socks, although he's fairly certain that by this point that descriptor is no longer appropriate.

It comes as absolutely no surprise when the Fiat that zips past him kicks up a spray of mud and oil that splashes over Martin. Not that it's possible for him to possibly be any more wet. Maybe if he's lucky, the oil will act as a protective barrier against the rain.

It doesn't. It only smells nasty and makes his skin itch.

The Renault that passes does exact the same thing as the Fiat, and when the Volvo shows no sign of slowing down, Martin doesn't even try to duck out of the way, because what the hell? His back seems to be getting all the attention lately, and other bits of him are feeling rather left out.

His not-so-genuine Patek Philippe beeps forlornly to signify the hour, or in reality, seventeen minutes til the hour, but Martin hardly notices because at that moment, a lorry drives past and blares its horn at him. Whether to say, 'sorry, I'd pick you up if I wasn't on a tight schedule,' or 'sucks to be you, loser,' Martin doesn't know, but if he had any he'd put money on the second one.

But even all of this might have been able to leave a shred of doubt in Martin's mind as to his standing with the Universe. This could, on its own, just be a spectacularly unlucky day. Everyone has them — and sure, Martin has them more than most — but he has absolute proof that the Universe, or whoever's in charge of it, would greatly appreciate it if Martin would kindly leave it, sooner rather than later, thank you.

He stares at the passenger door of the Lexus that's pulled over to let him in, and wonders how much further he'd be able to make it on his own before either his body or his pride gave out first. He might be able to make it home on his pride, but the way he's shivering is a pretty good indication that his body would very much like him to just get in the damn car and worry later about the million and one ways Douglas will hold this over his head for the next six months.


End file.
